Salted Wound
by Lapis Love
Summary: "Damon didn't feel his legs under him but felt the pain of his knees coming into contact with the unforgiving hardwood floor. From head to toe he scanned Bonnie almost willing her heart to start beating again. In that moment he hated himself" essentially what would life be like without Bonnie Bennett or will he never have to find out? A post series fic of sorts.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a preview of sorts of a potential story. I hope it flows all right because I only edited this once. If you read a section and it appears familiar it's because a took a bit from a previous story I started but since deleted because I knew I wasn't going to be able to finish it, and I hate letting things go to waste. Um, what else? What you need to know is this is set way, way in the future. Enjoy!**

* * *

1.

* * *

The last tear fell, cascading down an icy cold cheek before joining its predecessors on the pillow cushioned beneath her head. The physician held her limp wrist counting the beats of her pulse which grew slower, fainter as the seconds ticked off the face of his watch. Each one measured by a shuddering cry coming from one of the occupants in the bedroom. Her pulse beat once in a faint boom of sound that filled the ears of those with preternatural hearing. When nothing followed for several minutes, the physician slowly lowered her arm to rest over her abdomen.

Placing the diaphragm of his stethoscope on her chest, he listened to her lungs. They weren't inflating in the slightest. What warmth remained within her body was quickly siphoned out by death. With half-lidded orbs he nodded solemnly at the nurse.

"Time of death…seven-fifteen p.m."

Tears, wails, and sniffles rent the air in a chorus of misery. The physician repacked his bag and shuffled out of the way as the body lying in the middle of the huge bed was converged on by the bereaved.

Fingers danced across her cheeks, tucked strands of surprisingly soft salt and pepper hair behind her ears. Hands enclosed over her own, a body wedged next to her, a face shoved into her neck breathing warmth on her that she now lacked.

One remained stoic watching things unfold. Her slender hand balled into a fist. Someone approached her to give condolences but condolences' was not what she wanted. Condolences' wasn't going to do a damned thing but piss her the fuck off.

Outraged forest green eyes met glacial blue that were red-rimmed. She narrowed her orbs before spinning abruptly marching to one of the tall candelabras and blew out the flame of the candle.

A hand touched her shoulder. The hand of her uncle and by all accounts a surrogate father. She recoiled from his touch, shrugging him off.

"I never wanted this…"

"It'll be seven days from now that you get your bitch back," she interrupted. "In the meantime I have a funeral to plan," she quickly vacated the bedroom repressing the urge to scream from the depths of her ravaged soul.

Damon Salvatore heaved a rugged breath. When he refaced the others they were staring at him. Some sympathetically others accusatory. His gaze dropped to his best friend…dead best friend knowing the implication of her passing. He swallowed although his throat had collapsed long ago. Damon crossed the room, but he was barred from getting any closer to Bonnie.

Another pair of forest green eyes seared him down to the marrow of his bones. Damon pressed his lips into a thin line glowering at the petite woman doing her best to intimidate him.

"Let me say…goodbye," he said quietly. So quietly he barely heard his own voice.

It may have taken a minute but she slid out of the way offering him an unobstructed view.

It hit him at once. He had watched it happening; saw Bonnie deteriorating at a rate that couldn't be stopped by conventional medicine. He lost count of the number of times they argued about her transitioning, becoming immortal like him, and each time she'd question why he'd think she'd ever go for that. Being a witch was who she was and nothing would make her stop being one.

Seeing her lying impossibly still…no eye movement happening beneath her shut lids, the texture of her skin was changing, becoming that of the recently departed. He couldn't look at her like this…he couldn't.

Tears fell, caked his eyelashes together. Damon didn't feel his legs under him but felt the pain of his knees coming into contact with the unforgiving hardwood floor. From head to toe he scanned Bonnie almost willing her heart to start beating again. In that moment he hated himself for all the petty comments he made about her choking on her food, or being hit by a train…tasteless. Bonnie was the only reason he even had his joke a life, and to mock about her dying in order to be reunited with Elena…Damon let out a little groan of agony.

He reached out a shaky hand, his knuckles coming into contact with Bonnie's cold skin. Even at seventy she was still a knock out, the best looking geriatric broad he had ever known, he had teased her often. Bonnie would pretend to be offended before blushing reluctantly, and passive aggressively shrinking his balls.

The thought inspired a tiny half-smile that vanished instantly. That was their way, how they showed their love, and…Jesus…he was going to miss her. _More_ than miss her. His chin quivered and his jaw hardened simultaneously.

"I won't forget what I promised you, Bonnie. I won't," he froze, mouth poised to speak but he was too consciously aware of the audience, the crowd doing what they could to give him space to say his goodbye while hanging on to his every word.

Damon had said this to Bonnie. Once and possibly at the worst possible time. But he had been brutally honest and in typical Damon fashion, inserted his foot in his mouth narrowly escaping with his hide intact. Here was his do over and the words were stuck to the roof his mouth. Their taste distinctive like flavored desperation. Perhaps Bonnie wasn't truly gone _gone_ and she'd hear, understand, know his heart and his intentions.

Maneuvering to sit on the edge of the bed, he lowered until his lips brushed along the shell of her ear. "I love you…Bonnie. I've loved you for the better years of my life, and I'm sorry. You…I'm sorry."

His lips touched hers briefly before he vanished from the room.

Caroline who had witnessed it all stared at the two women hovering on the right side of the bed, their eyes widened in disbelief.

"Gotdamn coward, fool," the blonde cursed. Of course Damon would wait to tell Bonnie what everyone else had known for years.

Telling Bonnie he loved her wouldn't do Bonnie any good now since she couldn't say it back.

Fool.

* * *

2.

* * *

The hour was ridiculously late or early depending on the person. The bottle of bourbon dangling precariously between his fingertips plunged to the ground but didn't shatter into pieces. He was a wreck. Hair finger combed, face tear streaked, eyes pounding and red. He thought he'd pass the time hanging out with Elena's coffin counting down the moment until she awakened, but the idea of being around her even in a spelled box made his flesh crawl.

Damon felt another strip of his sound mind giving way to insanity. He crashed into a headstone and nearly tumbled over, but caught himself in time. Laughing wildly, he fell on his back anyways, eyes up at the night sky.

He didn't know why the fuck he was here knowing he'd have to make an appearance in a few days to officially bury Bonnie. The unpleasant thought made the veins in his head bulge, throb brutally that Damon almost wanted to dig his brain out with a fork.

A sharp kick to his ribs had him jolting up. Seeing who it was, Damon groaned and fell backwards on the ground.

"Artie…leave me alone."

"Get your ass off the ground, Uncle Damon. You think mom would want you to fall apart like this?"

He scoffed. "Yes she would. She knows me…knew me. This behavior wouldn't be a surprise to her. In fact, she would demand I sob like a bitch and curl into a fetal position on top of her grave."

The young woman chastising him rolled her olive eyes. "I'm glad you're grieving…I wasn't sure you would."

"That hurts, Artie."

"And stop calling me Artie you damn drunk. It's _Loki_."

Damon bellowed in laughter at that. Artemis Bennett, or "Loki" as she preferred to be called was Bonnie's youngest who had been born at a whopping two pounds and seven ounces. Loki was a spitfire, all the spunky parts of Bonnie poured into a five foot even frame. Though Damon saw more of himself in Loki, she was her mother's daughter, and he knew out of her sisters she'd be the one to find him. Caeden—the eldest probably wanted to flay him alive, and Faora—the middle child would co-sign whatever Caeden wanted to do. His best shot at survival was Loki.

She sat beside his prone form. They were quiet.

"Do you hate me?" Damon questioned. "Because I could never…own up to how I felt about your mother?"

Loki bit the inside of her cheek and plucked a few blades of grass. It would be elementary to tear her uncle apart, berate him for his mistakes, but no one could punish Damon Salvatore the way Damon Salvatore could. She knew what her sisters would want her to say. That if he weren't so stuck in the past, clinging to an allegiance to some girl stuck in a box that wouldn't fit who he was today, he could have had everything he truly wanted. But nope. He was chicken shit and didn't deserve their mother's love or loyalty. He fucking blew it! That and much more would have been what her sisters would want her to say to Damon. They were connected in many ways. They were triplets after all. Three versions of one person—their mother. Sure they shared qualities in common with their father, but to Loki her dad was the wallowing fool spread on the ground next to her.

"What did you feel for my mother?" Loki questioned. "Did you fall in love with her?"

Damon swallowed.

"Did you?"

"Loki," Damon whined.

She shook her head repugnantly and pushed to her feet. "Why can't you just be honest?"

"What has honesty ever gotten anyone? Pain."

"Don't do this. Don't be an asshole."

Fire shot from Damon's eyes. "Watch your _mouth_ , little girl. Your mother may have just died but that doesn't mean I won't throttle your ass."

Loki propped a hand on her hip. "Try it, old man and break a hip in the process."

"Loki…why are you even talking to me, right now? Your sisters need you. Bonnie…she needs you."

"I know precisely what everyone needs," her tone softened. "Caeden and Faora are handling things, but mom…she'd want me to look out for you. She…asked me."

Damon blinked slowly, deliberately. No matter what, his eyes blurred despite his best wishes. He averted his gaze. Why was everyone always so much more worried about him when he didn't deserve that kind of attention? Damon didn't get it.

"I should be the one looking out for you and your sisters," he refuted.

"If you fall apart you won't be able to. We're still family even if she's not here, Uncle Damon. Come back to the house."

"Caeden doesn't want me there."

"No, she doesn't," Loki didn't sugarcoat the absolute truth. Damon snorted ruefully. "Caeden would very much like to shove Elena's coffin into an open fire right at the moment she wakes up. You're the only one who can talk her down from that ledge."

"I'm her enemy right now because of my ties to Elena. She's not going to listen to me, and I don't blame her. I'm a piece of shit."

Loki felt herself getting pissed off because of her uncle's endless excuses. She snatched Damon by the collar of his jacket and jerked him to his feet. Her strength—disconcerting.

"I don't want to hear another self-deprecating comment come out of your gotdamn mouth," she poked him, hard. " _Do_ what my mother needs you to do. _Be_ the Damon Salvatore she's always told me you were. Lick your wounds in private and let's move on. Your self-loathing isn't going to do anything to bring her back. Talk to Caeden. End this feud before it starts," Loki suggested before turning on her heels. "See you at the house."

Brushing off the back of his jeans thoroughly whipped by a young woman half his size and a third his age, Damon pulled his lips back from his teeth. Yep, that was all Bonnie and he couldn't be prouder.

* * *

3.

* * *

A gale wind from the northeast fondled his denim covered backside, and whipped against his exposed neck and ears. If he were human he would have shivered, but the weather had no effect on the immortal other than to annoy him. Damon shuffled the keys on the ring looking for the one for the front door. He felt so weird actually using the key to open the door to the boardinghouse because typically it remained unlocked.

Finding the correct one, he shoved it into the lock and opened the door. Damon made quick work of flicking of lights, starting a fire, and grabbing the least dusty bottle of bourbon he could find. Twisting off the cap, he tossed it, picked up a rock glass, poured. He knew he'd have to speak with Caeden before the sun set on a brand new day, but finding the words to say to her…his mind was a total blank. But he'd have to because Loki would kick his ass otherwise. When would women stop ruling his life?

Damon tossed back the shot of bourbon. Would his habits ever change, he wondered idly as he made his way to the newly built wing of the Salvatore boardinghouse that had been constructed a year after the Gemini Wedding Massacre. There was nothing special about the wing, just a series of short hallways that led to a solarium that featured a view of the woods. How inspiring.

Hung on the paneled walls made of stained oak was portraits—oil paintings of those who had lost their lives fighting the good fight of the supernatural, were casualties of collateral damage, or simply just because. Damon strolled by headshots of Zach Salvatore and his girlfriend Gail, Lexi Branson, Jenna Sommers, Liz Forbes, Sheila Bennett.

Rounding the final bend, Damon was looking at paintings of his friend Rose, Jeremy Gilbert—he tried not to roll his eyes at that. Last he heard, Jeremy was still alive somewhere out there in the world but won an honorary spot on the wall because he knew that's what his sister would have wanted. Alaric's portrait was next—Damon's teeth gritted on that one. Alaric, dead of a heart attack a year after losing Jo.

Damon's steps began to slow as he came up to the final two paintings hung side by side.

Their soft smiles. Their expressive eyes that could say a thousand things at once without having to move their lips to make one syllable. Elena could look at a person like a shiny new object created just for her amusement. Bonnie, like she was waiting for you to stop wasting her time and to impress her. Prove her hypothesis about you being right. Damon's forefinger traced the shape of her jaw. How was he ever going to say goodbye to her and _let_ it stick? Already his mind was itching of ways to make some deal with some mystic, spirit, or Ronald McDonald to bring Bonnie back, give them more time. But time was up. This was the final call. She wouldn't be resurrected. Not this time.

Inhaling, the immortal caught a particular scented perfume on the air. His shoulders tensed, but he swallowed the rest of the bourbon in his glass, waited.

Damon didn't have long until Caeden filled up the other end of the hallway. Her red-rimmed irises squinted. She tutted and made a move to leave, but Damon flashed down the corridor, caught her by the arm.

"Caeden, please. Please talk to me."

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"Yes, you do. I can see it. Hell, I can practically hear you screaming at me. So just go ahead and say it."

Caeden Bennett, her name made up of one letter from all the people her mother loved, glared at her uncle, jaw tightening with each second. He appeared drunk and pathetic hoping she'd absolve him of whatever guilt or unfinished business he didn't have the balls to square away before her mother took her final breath. Well, he would be shit out of luck. She had to deal with her own emotions that were firing all over the place that standing still was taking a concerted amount of effort. Caeden would like nothing more than to blow up a couple gas stations, and wreck a few cars, but she couldn't act out that way. Her mother expected more from her.

"You came here to look at her painting," Damon filled the eerily cold silence. He held out his hand. "I could use some company while I do the same."

Caeden stared at his outstretched limb before meeting his gaze. She bypassed his hand and continued down the hall, reaching her mother's portrait. Her attention, however, was thwarted to the painting hanging beside Bonnie's.

"Is she worth more than having my mother alive?" Caeden whispered.

Damon stood shoulder…well the top of Caeden's head barely came to his shoulder, but he stood close enough to feel her body heat. He had a special relationship with each of Bonnie's daughters, but Caeden had a special piece of his soul her sisters didn't. Maybe because he was the first person she saw when she was born, staring at him as if she recognized him, which was impossible. Yet from that life-changing moment, Caeden became more than his best friend's daughter, but his daughter as well.

"Caeden, Elena and Bonnie mean different things to me. I don't love one more than the other."

"But one you loved openly."

"She…" he sighed tiredly. "You've heard the stories. You know how bad things were. You've been in love. You know what it can do to you."

"I've seen love and the love I saw…it wasn't destructive, and people didn't have to die while two people simply merged their lives together. You expect me to be happy about this woman I don't know from a can of paint returning to life while I bury my mother?"

Damon turned Caeden to face him. "I don't expect you to be happy about any of this. I'm not going to ask you to give Elena a chance, or tell you to get to know her for yourself. Feel what you need to feel, Caeden, but don't think I'm automatically going to stop giving a damn about Bonnie or any of you girls just because Elena's waking up."

Silvery tears coursed down flaming hot russet cheeks. Damon cupped Caeden's face, using his thumbs to wipe her tears away. In baby steps, Caeden moved closer, burying her face in his chest. Damon wrapped his arms around his niece, kissed the top of her head. He felt her trembling, heard her sobs that triggered his own emotional torrent.

"I love your mother, Caeden. Don't think I didn't. I…wanted to be with her but…she fell in love with someone else. I missed my chance."

Caeden listened. She understood why Damon was confiding in her now, but it was too late. Much too late for what was coming next.

* * *

4.

* * *

Faora Bennett quietly observed as two caskets were rolled into the living room of her uncles' house. One of them was empty, the other contained the body of the woman she knew from stories told to her, her entire life. Stories of a girl, the doppelganger of a vampire, cursed to attract death and destruction to the lives of those who tried to save hers. Faora never grew up with stars dancing in her eyes whenever she heard the name Elena Gilbert. She didn't understand the worship, the reverence that overcame anyone telling her some useless fact about one of her mother's oldest friends.

She had to look away as the walnut casket was rolled near the pool table before it burst into flames. Like her mother, she and her sisters were witches. On her own, she was weaker. Loki was the strongest since she was the last of their line. But combining her powers with her older and younger sister made them a powerhouse the only one capable of unraveling their spells…was…

Faora's nose tingled. Today was the day she would be burying her mother and Elena would wake up. It didn't seem fair. It _wasn't_ fair as it seemed everyone around her mom unconsciously or consciously counted down the days until this very moment. She hated them all.

Anger seethed in her veins, and her sharp nails scraped the wood of the post she was holding on to.

Stefan sensed Faora watching from the second floor landing. He glanced up, thin lips stretch into something of a comforting smile.

"Faye…are you all right?"

"What do you think, Stefan?" she dropped the uncle. As far as she was concerned her family consisted of her sisters. Anyone outside of that, they were just people who mooched off their mother's power for their own gain.

Stefan frowned, noticing that Faora called him simply by name. He understood this was hard on her, could literally see the rage in her eyes.

"Talk to me, Faye," he began making his way to the staircase to join her.

"There's nothing to say. My mother is dead and Damon will get his girlfriend back. It's all he's wanted these last fifty years. He's being reunited ten years ahead of schedule so I'm sure he's cutting flips."

Stefan stood beside Faora in a flash. "You know it's not like that. You _know_ Damon loved your mother. He never wanted to have to say goodbye to her. None of us did. But…we knew we couldn't have her forever. Your mother had an _amazing_ life, Faye. She met a man, fell in love, married him, and had three beautiful daughters. She was happy in the end."

Was she?

Faora exhaled harshly. Yes, her mother still managed to have a good life, but her parents split up years ago, and she knew, Faora knew her mom waited for their Uncle Damon give her the love she truly needed.

"That may be so but can any of that make up for the years they didn't have together?" Faye queried. "The years they will _never_ have together. I get it. Damon wanted to remain loyal to some girl in a box. And my mom…she wouldn't cross that line even if she were totally justified. She tried to make things work with my dad but…he wasn't Damon. I saw it, Stefan. When I was ten years old, I saw how much they loved each other, and he finally tells her when she's dead."

Faora skirted around Stefan.

"He told her once before."

Stefan's words stopped Faora dead in her tracks. She pivoted to face him questionably.

Damon would probably crucify him for this, but he couldn't let Bonnie's daughters live another minute thinking their pseudo uncle cared fleetingly for their mother. Their relationship may have remained platonic through the years where they had moments of being candid with their feelings, hiding it behind the guise of friendship, but Stefan knew certain truths they didn't. He wouldn't tell Faora everything, but enough to temper her immediate need for revenge, retaliation. She was primed for it. Stefan could practically smell the magic coiling off her.

"He told her…on her wedding day."

Faora gaped. "He did what?"

"He showed up…drunk," Stefan shook his head. "Spilling his guts to your mother on how he felt about her."

"And she…?"

"Swept the floor with his ass. Laid him _out._ "

Faora snickered but coughed to cover it up. "Even after all that she still went through with the wedding."

Stefan nodded at the rhetorical question. "If she hadn't you and your sisters wouldn't be here. Possibly."

Folding her arms across her chest, Faora chewed her lip. "What did Damon do afterward?"

"He chose desiccation."

Jaw widened in disbelief, Faora mouthed the word 'wow'. She never knew any of this.

Stefan nearly stood toe-to-toe with Faora now staring into a pair of eyes that were nearly identical to Bonnie's. "He bitched and complained about missing Elena, but I knew the _real_ reason why he stopped drinking blood and opted to waste his life in a coffin. His heart was broken over Bonnie moving on with someone who was…unafraid to love her. Damon remained desiccated until I woke him up because I needed his help with something. Your mom was heavily pregnant at that time, our lives, like always was in danger.

"Every time he looked at Bonnie and her swollen stomach I could see the pain in his eyes. Despite that, he promised he wouldn't leave her and he kept that promise."

Faora mulled that over, head cocked to the side. "My dad…how did he feel about that?"

Stefan stuffed his hands in his pockets, mind flooded with memories of that time. The fights, the bickering, the ultimatums. It had been too much which led to Bonnie delivering seven weeks prematurely in the back of Damon's Camaro that he later gave to the girls on their sixteenth birthday.

"Your father wasn't pleased, but for you guys he toughed it out. You three brought so much joy; however, you three never made it any secret whom you preferred."

Faora knew that much was true. She and her sisters loved their father, naturally, but the minute any of them spotted Damon they seemed to forget his existence. That couldn't have been easy for their old man to deal with, and some of the anger boiling in Faora faded.

"I just want you to know, Faora that Damon isn't celebrating having Elena back because having Elena back will be a painful reminder that Bonnie isn't here."

Faora absorbed that. "I'm afraid, Uncle Stefan."

"Of what?"

"That…everyone will forget my mom as soon as Elena wakes up."

"That won't happen."

"I'm…I'm also afraid I'll kill her." Stefan's eyes widened. "Accidentally. People deal with grief in many ways, and from what I've been told, Elena was the source of a lot of the bad shit that happened to mom. You know how I am when it comes to her."

Yes, Stefan did know. Out of the triples, Faora was the most protective of her mother.

"As long as my contact with her remains minimal, well," Faora shrugged. "I'm going to go check on Caeden."

Stefan said nothing as he watched Faora march down the hall, flinging open a door, darting inside.

He knew without having to turn around that Loki was standing behind him. He eyed her as she passed him on her way, no doubt, to the room her sister just disappeared into.

"No worries, Uncle Stefan. I'll make sure Faye _at least_ says hello before she smites Elena," the youngest triplet laughed mellifluously.

* * *

5.

* * *

It was the seventh day. The day of one awakening. The closing of a chapter on another life.

It would be a gravesite funeral which would make it much easier on everyone. Bonnie would be carried in a glass carriage pulled by four white horses. Her favorite flowers: calla lilies and orchids would decorate the top of her casket as well as other arrangements. Doves would be released as well as white balloons which they would ask everyone to write a special message on them for Bonnie before being sent up into the air. That would take place while she was being lowered into the ground. The repast would be held at the Bennett residence.

Tonight would be a private viewing at the Salvatore boardinghouse where only immediate family and designated friends would be allowed to attend. At the moment, everyone was on edge, waiting for the moment of truth.

Caroline Forbes stood in front of a cheval mirror, straightening out her skirt. She was perfectly coiffed and wanted to scream herself raw.

Despite her meticulous preparation for Bonnie's funeral, it hadn't actually prepared Caroline to see her body. Bonnie was like her, before she grew more into her witch powers. She used to be upbeat, carefree, but also the sensible one of the bunch. Caroline had had a front row seat to Bonnie's deterioration from a bubbly firecracker to a cynical, closed off individual who was only interested in the bottom line. She mourned her friend's childhood probably more than Bonnie did. Yet in pieces, Bonnie began to reclaim what made her unique beyond the spells and the hocus pocus. She graduated, started her career in journalism, became a wife, mother, a mentor to at-risk youth. She traveled to exciting places determined to never live the same day twice. But ovarian cancer caught her, and by the time it had been detected it had been too late.

So delivering the final outfit Bonnie would ever wear to the mortician made Caroline lose it. She had held herself together all week, snapping out orders, and keeping the flow going. For her nieces sake. But all of that composure went out the window the minute reality hit her, and seeing Bonnie so lifeless. The absent rise and fall of her chest, the flat line to her lips, the gray pallor to Bonnie's skin were all telltale signs that she was dead. Her spirit no longer lived inside her body.

Caroline broke down. She was inconsolable.

And in a few short hours she was going to have to drag herself through glass again.

Nevertheless, Caroline pulled herself together enough to give direction to the mortician on how Bonnie preferred her makeup. She was an earth tone kind of girl, liked the natural look, but she coveted lip gloss and told the guy to be liberal with it.

Her thoughts turned to the girls, her nieces. Caroline hadn't seen them in the last three days, which wasn't a good sign. Her calls had gone unanswered and unreturned. The blonde immortal thought of the night Bonnie died. The girls had crowded on the bed surrounding their mother, joined hands, and started singing a song Bonnie used to sing to them when they were babies. They did that for hours until Loki slipped out. Faora and Caeden had fallen asleep. Caroline had questioned Loki where she was going.

"To find that deadbeat uncle of mine. Don't tell the squad. I really don't want to hear their shit."

Loki, she was the most outspoken, had zero filter. Still to this day, Caroline shook her head that at the age of five Artemis said she no longer wished to be addressed as such for she believed she was the reincarnated version of the Norse god of mischief. The name fit her perfectly because Artemis loved playing tricks on people, indiscriminately using her power to make things vanish into black holes she conjured, or animating furniture. Luckily she had outgrown that but for twenty years straight, Caroline wanted to strangle her.

Hours later Loki returned to the house she grew up in.

"Did you find him?" Caroline asked.

"I did. We talked. Whether or not he's going to do what he needs to do will remain to be seen."

Caroline nodded. She had to tell Loki something and was apprehensive, unsure of how she might take it. Clearing her throat, wringing her hands, Caroline eased into it. "Loki…I think we need to call the coroner."

"Why?"

"I can…she's starting to…decompose. I've bumped up the air as high as it'll go…but it's not going to work for much longer."

The color left Loki's face then, yet she pinched her lips together. "I'll tell them."

Two hours later, Bonnie's body was wheeled out of the house in a black body bag, the girls clinging to one another, crying.

Thankfully, a door opened distracting Caroline from her contemplations. She heard feet walking past the room where she was held up. The sun dipped below the horizon. It was time.

Heading down to the main level, it was washed in candlelight. Damon was there dressed in a dark suit perched in front of Elena's coffin. Bonnie's was off set to the side.

Stefan popped up beside Caroline wrapping an arm around her waist. Caroline offered Jeremy, who stood with a cane, an encouraging smile which he reciprocated showing his dentures. Matt was seated on one of the folded chairs, barely able to keep his blue eyes open. Senior citizens they were.

The vampires heard the tapping of three pairs of heels coming down the stairs.

The triples arrived on the first floor dressed in matching black, tea length dresses, pearls around their slender brown necks, dark, wavy hair parted on the same side.

They walked with purpose across the living room, down the aisle toward Elena's casket.

Damon didn't face them. "Are you ready?"

The triplets gauged one another, speaking their own language. "Yes," they answered unanimously.

Caeden began the incantation that would unseal the coffin, her voice strong and determined. Faora chimed in adding her part with Loki sprouting the last few lines of the spell. Their voices combined together as they recited the incantation from the beginning, their harmonized tones reverberating along the walls. The flames of the candles grew taller, brighter, the air became denser. Once it was finished, they stepped back as a single unit, right foot followed by the left.

The hood groaned as if a pair of invisible hands was prying it apart. Damon moved closer slipping his fingers under the seal and flipping the lid open.

He sucked in a massive breath. Fifty years. Endless hours waiting for this one moment. The picture of how she looked when he said his goodbye…she hadn't changed. Hadn't aged from that day Kai ruthlessly knocked her unconscious and bound her life with Bonnie's. That serene, delicate look on her face unblemished by time. Damon's chest heaved up and down rapidly as he waited for any flicker of life.

Her eye twitched. Damon was sure of it.

"Elena?"

Her head moved slightly against the padded pillow and her brow dimpled. Elena groaned a little, and her lids finally parted affording Damon the chance to gaze into her luminous brown orbs.

The others had shuffled closer unable to handle the suspense. Well, Jeremy poked Matt awake with his cane who snapped up with a curse.

And while they converged on Elena's casket that Damon reached into to pick her up, the triplets turned their heads towards their mother's closed coffin. Their eyes went white.

"Damon?" Elena murmured sleepily, burrowing her cheek into his chest.

"Hey," he carried her to the sofa that had been pushed out of the way to make room for guest chairs that had been set up for Bonnie's wake.

Damon sat down, cradling Elena on his lap.

She pulled away, her body feeling stiff and foreign. Disoriented, she smashed the heel of her palm into her temple wishing the room would stop spinning. Elena didn't know what was happening as her vision fought to make sense of the scene in front of her.

She saw Caroline and Stefan looming. Standing directly next to them were two older gentlemen who looked vaguely familiar. Elena stretched her eyes and gasped once realizing those older gentlemen…one was her brother, the other was Matt Donovan. How long had she been asleep?

Then it hit her. The condition on which she could only wake up.

"No, no, no, no, no…"

"Shush," Damon tried to soothe her.

"Bonnie!" Elena wailed pitiably.

He heard it. The girls…they were doing another spell.

Damon shifted to peer around Caroline and saw the girls', hands clasped, their attention locked on their mother's coffin. "Caeden, Faora, Loki what are you doing?"

Elena frowned. She didn't recognize those names.

Caroline and Stefan turned to investigate.

The girls, who had been chanting softly at first began to speak louder and with more authority. The flames of the candles burned brighter and higher once more and hotter, so hot the wax burned down to nothing within seconds ending up as pools of it on the floor. Damon started to push Elena off his lap when he heard her gasp sharply.

Right before his eyes, Elena's skin began to lose its luster, aging at an alarming rate, becoming lined with wrinkles, and riddled with age spots. The vibrant color of her brown eyes faded until they were nearly milk white, the skin underneath becoming papery and hollow. Her long, lustrous strands of sable hair lost its sheen and became wiry and gray.

Her supple body was shriveled to appear identical to a prune. Elena watched in horror as she aged fifty years in ten seconds.

Stefan gawked, "Jesus."

Caroline covered her mouth with her hands.

Matt and Jeremy, whose vision wasn't that great to begin with, stared in stupefaction. "Holy shit," Matt wheezed.

"What the hell is going on?" Jeremy griped.

Damon, immobilized for several seconds before getting into action, gently placed Elena on the couch, a tick working overtime in his jaw. She reached for him with gnarled, arthritic hands that he had to carefully pry off of him because they felt so fragile. Damn stood to his full height, eyes bleeding red. He was so fucking furious with his nieces! He should have seen this coming. Should have known they weren't going to simply be complacent when it came to their mother.

Stefan tried to reach for him knowing consequences always followed when one tried to interrupt a witch while she cast a spell. But three witches? Yeah, Damon might end up being a splatter of vampire remains on the wall.

Damon snatched his arm out of Stefan's reach as he barreled toward those meddling triplets.

He was in reaching distance of Loki, but slid to a stop on his feet when the hood of Bonnie's coffin flew open.

The girls ceased their chanting.

One arm stretched out, finding purchase on the edge of the coffin for leverage…a _youthful_ looking arm. Slowly Bonnie sat up. A curtain of dark hair blocked her face, but the color of it wasn't that shade of silvery black he had grown accustomed to, but that of the Bonnie back in her heyday.

Damon swore his heart or his nuts was lodged in his throat. "What have you done?" he could barely get the words out.

Caeden shifted her head to look at him, her eyes still freakishly white. "What Bennett's always do."

"Look out for one another," Faora added.

"How?" Caroline murmured.

Loki supplied the answer. "It's simple really. We put our mother's consciousness back in her original body," she smiled hugely. "Of course to reanimate her we needed bioenergy…the organic kind. And what better source than a newly awakened twenty year old human girl."

"You didn't," Damon had to resist snatching Loki.

Faora lifted her chin in that stubborn, proud Bennett way. "Oh, but we did. Our mother is going to relive her life from the moment she _first_ died."

"Is that a problem for you, Uncle Damon?" Caeden lipped and approached Bonnie's coffin. The young woman whipped her head and stared at her with frightened eyes. "It's okay, mom. We'll explain. Promise."

Bonnie's bowed lips formed into a circle and she uttered, "Who are you?"

 **A/N: This almost kind of reads like Twice the Trouble. I just love knocking Bonnie up with several babies at once, can't seem to help myself. No, I don't know who the triplets' father is, terrible I know. I don't have all the logistics worked out, but I just wanted to put this idea out there to see if anyone is interested. I can't make any guarantees this will become a full-fledged story, well it could; and I probably won't have this posted for long, as this is a preview I'm marking complete for now. Thanks for reading, and please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Almost three years later and chapter 2 has finally arrived! Second chapters are often harder to write than the first, a little easier than the last, but nerve wrecking in any case. I just want to thank everyone for the overwhelming support and love you showed to chapter one. I still can't say I'm continuing this, I have so much left to finish, but I did want to add to it. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _The place was coming down around her. Plumes of smoke grew thicker, nastier, and she could hardly breathe. This wasn't how she saw herself dying. She always pictured she'd be in a bed with her children and grandchildren surrounding her. She wouldn't be afraid. She wouldn't be alone. When you're loved, you never die alone._

 _But that's not how her story would end. She would die here in this farmhouse, powerless, literally broken, and terribly alone. Why did any of this have to happen to her._

 _Tears ran from the corner of her eyes. Anytime she tried to move, shooting, blinding-hot pain oscillated through her entire body, mostly in her abdomen. Her babies. They were coming. Three times she's lost consciousness, and she knew when it happened again, it would be final._

 _Something crashed next to her sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Bonnie Bennett-Lindholm was too weak to shield herself. Tiny, pinpricks of glass burrowed into what exposed skin it could reach and penetrate. She winced and moaned at the agony. It was endless and relentless._

 _With what little energy she had left, Bonnie reached down in her reserves for her last drop of Power to summon her familiar. Yet she felt nothing. Their connection—gone. Empty. Void. That would only be possible if…if her familiar was dead._

 _The huntress must have killed Cesare._

 _A fresh batch of tears streamed down her face._

 _Maybe…maybe Cesare sensed her distress and told…_

" _BONNIE!"_

 _She coughed. It was so hard to hear over the rumbling of the foundation and the roaring fires, but maybe someone had just shouted her name? Bonnie dared not to even hope for a rescue at this point._

" _BONNIE! WHERE ARE YOU? ANSWER ME GOTDAMMIT!"_

 _Her face was smiling but the nerves beneath were practically paralyzed. She couldn't feel it._

 _A sharp wind blew past and then someone was kneeling over her, wrapping an arm underneath her back, lifting her, cradling her._

 _She couldn't see through her tears but she knew this face well enough. "Dayyy-mmmon."_

" _Don't talk," he ordered through clenched teeth, and then, she was no longer on the floor._

 _She was flying, moving fast but the heat of the fire still licked against her skin that was dirtied and bloodied._

 _Damon got her far enough away from the imploding farmhouse, settling her in the back seat of his car. His face was carved into stone. He was too incensed and pissed off to form more than a few words at a time. He was going to_ gut _whoever did this to her._

" _Hold still," he brought his wrist up to his mouth and sank his fangs in._

" _No," Bonnie murmured softly, so softly he barely heard her._

 _His eyes went wild. "Bonnie! You're not dying like this."_

" _Wait."_

" _Wait for what?!" Damon raged._

 _Bonnie smiled weakly at his intensity. Still the same old hot-blooded vampire she had known since she was a girl. "The babies…they're coming. My water broke."_

 _Damon didn't think his eyes could get any bigger. "Shit."_

" _You're going to have to deliver them because…I'm not going to make it to the hospital."_

" _Can you try?" he was near hysterics._

" _I wish," she said on a scream. "Please, Damon. It's too soon for them to come!"_

 _In the background the roof of the farmhouse buckled and caved in. The sound was monstrous._

 _Nostrils flared to handle the volume of air circulating through his lungs, the muscles in Damon's jaw flexed as he quickly calculated the odds. He could run Bonnie to the hospital faster than driving…that idea was nixed when a gush of bloody water rushed from between her splayed thighs. Bonnie fumbled with her underwear and Damon nearly passed out._

 _He could see a tiny dark head with matted curls, crowning._

" _Okay," he said mostly to himself. "Okay," he was up and searching through his trunk where he luckily had a blanket, thankfully a first-aid kit, bottle of water and yes some bourbon. He sanitized his hands and remembered what he had seen in countless medical shows hoping they hadn't taken creative license on instructing a woman when to push._

" _Breathe," he reminded Bonnie. "Deep breaths. On the next contraction, bear down and push. You're gonna push for ten seconds, okay?"_

 _Bonnie was too busy screaming in agony._

" _OKAY BONNIE?!"_

" _Yes, I heard you. It hurts, Damon."_

" _I know, baby, but this will be over soon. All right? Do you feel a contraction coming?"_

" _They haven't stopped."_

" _On the next big one…push!"_

What she was going through felt like giving birth again.

Surrounded by people, dying was still a lonely walk. In that moment when it's just you and death and you make a place for your regrets, you think of the lives you touched, the lives you should have touched, and the ones that touched you. You say goodbye to comfort and dignity and make one final plea for the living to carry out on your behalf. Remember. To remember you.

She was drifting away, riding an avalanche that would bury her for good this time. Her lips moved though no one could see it through their tears. Even with their superior hearing they missed her final words.

"…stay together…"

Her heart contracted and released once, again, and then…nothing. She was dead.

.

.

.

Something happened. She couldn't explain it. Only that she was…grabbed. Backwards, she was being hauled backwards. And with the speed, her thoughts went in reverse and she couldn't stop the torrent. Pain, loneliness, abandonment, and anger emotions she had shucked after taking that final indrawn breath came rushing back. Chills stole her heat, racked what was left of her existence. Weight, crushing pressure came next like she was being stuffed into a package she wasn't meant to fit.

What the hell was going on?

She was expanding now, senses returning. She could feel something under her. Her lungs strained for a drop of oxygen. Her heart pounded in tandem in a space that felt about as big as the eye of a needle. Muffled sound bombarded her ears, and the strongest thought on her mind was she had to _get out_.

She fumbled, unable to control her limbs. They felt like nothing and unbearably heavy simultaneously. She opened her mouth. Her jaw resisted. So she gave up and did her best to concentrate. Unfortunately there was just too much to grip on to. The feeling of fibers against her face distracted her. What was that? Hair? Right, it was hair. Something on her skin, covering her from the chest to her knees irritated her. She couldn't move her toes; they were imprisoned in some kind of hard material.

The hunger though, the funny taste in the back of her parched throat quadrupled her misery. She finally opened her eyes after several tries, and once she did, she was welcomed to the sight of darkness.

Something was close to her face. The minute her arms and hands cooperated, she flattened her palms on the object and pushed. Air and light rushed in startling and blinding her.

She sat up, heaving for a breath, drained, hungry, and confused.

222.

The scene in front of Bonnie Bennett didn't make sense. Everything _hurt_. Colors were too bright, sound was too loud, and the smells…they were so overwhelming that for a second she thought she might be sick.

A presence drawing near caught her attention and Bonnie whipped her head to look. A pair of green eyes in a beautiful russet face offered her a tentative smile.

"It's okay, mom. I'll explain. Promise."

Bonnie blinked. _Mom_? Her jaws moved with concentrated effort. Language, vaguely she knew she possessed the ability to form sounds with her mouth and tongue and both felt swollen. She managed, "Who are you?"

The smile on the woman's face vanished into one of apprehensive fear. "You don't…know who I am?"

Bonnie's lids closed and reopened owlishly. She said nothing because she wasn't sure what to say. What was going on? What was happening to her?

Eyes became watery, breaths shaky. "The sacrifice," the triplets murmured resignedly. What candles remained burning, blew out.

Bonnie's eyes danced around for a moment. The walls, the windows, the ceiling, she recognized none of what she was seeing. Then she saw him. Dark and pale, a dichotomy that made her absently touch her throat. Bonnie frowned wondering why Damon Salvatore was looking at her like he was having an embolism.

He had conversed with ghosts. Dined with killers who recounted murders that made his stomach turn. Consorted with angels that wanted to save everyone but themselves. He had seen and done much of everything, dipping his fingers in different pots like a buffet. After all that you'd think he'd be prepared for Bonnie coming back to life. Inside his guts, birds were devouring horses, trees were uprooting the dead, and the sun was crashing into the moon. Damon had gone cold and prayed this wasn't a cruel joke.

He took a step forward. Stopped. His head rotated toward Elena but five seconds later he was gaping at Bonnie again who was making an attempt to move before realizing she wasn't in bed.

She was in a padded box, no not a box but a coffin. If she was in a coffin that meant she died. "Oh," Bonnie gasped and started coughing.

"Mom?" Caeden went to her, or at least made an attempt, but was bumped out of the way.

Damon flashed to Bonnie patting her gently on the back until her coughing fit subsided, murmuring it was all right. He checked her hands to make sure she hadn't coughed up blood or anything else vital. They were clean, soft. His thumb unconsciously rubbed her pulse, feeling that telltale beat.

It was supremely disconcerting looking into the face of the young woman he should have been a better friend to, should have taken better care of instead of wasting so many years. But here and there he saw the wizened Bonnie flickering in her notorious eyes. Damon couldn't help himself. He impatiently framed her face, feeling life rushing beneath her dermis.

His forehead crumbled and evened out at an alarming rate. "Hi."

"Hi?"

Her confused timbre made Damon laugh a little. "How do you feel?"

Stefan hated to be the one to disturb Damon and Bonnie's moment, but there was the matter of Elena who was curled up on the couch doing a fairly decent impersonation of Lord Voldemort before he inhabited his body.

Right when he was about to say something, the triplets shifted in his direction, each wearing the same fiercely protective expression. Stefan wasn't scared of them, in theory, but understood it took diplomacy to handle Bonnie's daughters.

"Let them have this moment, Uncle Stefan," they spoke in unison.

It was frightening whenever they did that.

Jeremy objected to this, of course, as he hobbled closer. "I don't care about them having a moment. I want you three to reverse what you did to my sister. Now!"

Caroline's eyes got even bigger. No one yelled at the triplets and survived. She watched as the girls turned their focus on Jeremy, moving precisely, more in sync than a phalanx of soldiers.

Coming under fire, Jeremy's knobby knees began to shake. He swallowed. Matt wagged his head. Funerals would never cease to amaze him.

Stefan intervened, "Caeden, Faye, Loki," hands on his hips. "Knock it the hell off. You've done enough for tonight."

Caeden and Faora dismissed Jeremy as inconsequential, yet Loki continued to glower.

"If he opens his mouth again demanding we _do_ something, he might not like what comes out of it," Loki warned and turned away.

"What is going on?" Bonnie hiccupped softly.

Damon angled his body to block the rest of the room, to be the center of Bonnie's attention. His hands hadn't stopped cradling her cheeks. Asking him to relinquish his hold was the impossible. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Memory, everything was jumbled to Bonnie. "I…"

Damon saw her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her body went limp. The triplets were immediately on him, and he hissed at them to get back as he scooped Bonnie out of the coffin.

"She's our mother. We'll take care of her," Caeden protested.

Damon growled, "You've done enough damage tonight. Stefan," he barked not once looking away from Bonnie. "Can you get Elena situated in one of the guest…in my room? Caroline…"

"I know. Tell everyone the wake has been cancelled. On it."

It was there Loki remembered, "Dad."

222.

The moon was strange tonight. Pale greenish-blue. The color of the Aurora Borealis. In his mind he felt her snuggling up to him in bed, the only turf on which they mutually agreed never to bring any of their issues to. Her warm body heating his, her soft lips at his ear she whispered a story about Mars falling in love with the moon. That regardless of the millions of miles separating them, he vowed to be her one and only lover. That he would never leave her. He had always pictured himself as Mars but little by little, as truths slipped through the cracks like rainwater, he finally realized this whole time she hadn't been talking about them but about _him_.

Now they were both without her.

Low profile tires rolled over herringbone brick. The Triton SE luxury sedan was brought to a stop in front of an antediluvian house that survived two major wars and a lot of bloodshed. Looking up at the structure, he sneered for his own benefit and told his driver to wait for him.

His old bones rattled like wind chimes as he exited the car and lumbered to the door. A wreath of orchids and calla lilies hung beneath the peephole, and knowing they were her favorite flowers made the reason for his being here that much harder to accept. His eyes turned misty, he sniffled, wiped his bulbous nose with a handkerchief before pressing down on the brass lever opening the door.

Faora sensed him long before he appeared. The door swung open and for two tenths of a second she looked away from the ensuing drama, and towards the archway that her father now occupied.

Bright, evergreen eyes met hers; the sorrow etched in them went soul deep. Her father's bald head caught the light from the lamps outside, and the dark suit he wore shielded him from the chilly elements. His gray beard covered a mouth that sometimes twitched. Her father had suffered with facial muscle spasms his entire life that he often hid by constantly smiling. He wasn't smiling now which meant his face was twitching uncontrollably.

Faora tapped Caeden on the shoulder hoping to garner her attention but she was too busy arguing with Uncle Damon.

Viggo Lindholm, the estranged ex-husband of Bonnie Bennett ambled his way inside the boardinghouse. The only one to take notice of him was his middle daughter—Faora her lovely dark green irises widening. He expected to see despondent faces and his daughters clutching one another; however the scene he arrived on…it didn't make sense.

When he was contacted by Caroline who told him of Bonnie's passing Viggo hopped on the first available flight from Sweden to Mystic Falls. He had retreated to his ancestral home after his divorce, periodically returning to the states to see his daughters. His relationship with them had become strained. A man could make a ton of regrettable mistakes when he fell under the belief his wife loved another more than she loved him. Still there had been no excuse for his actions since Bonnie had been innocent. It had been a supreme error in judgement that Viggo believed could have been worked out. Only, Bonnie's obstinacy made such a feat impossible.

Every day they were separated, Viggo missed her fiercely. Missed his family. Missed getting the chance to see his daughters grow and flourish. He had lost count of the number of times he pled with Bonnie for forgiveness, and even when she gave into him on those lonely nights, she hated herself for her weakness. He ripped their family apart. Something he would have to live with for the rest of his life, which he didn't have too long to live.

"Girls," Viggo said.

Several heads whipped in his direction. He blinked and rooted around in his pockets for his glasses. While he struggled to get them on, Loki smiled waiting for the fireworks. Oh, sure her uncle wanted to slaughter her and her sisters for draining his precious—now geriatric—girlfriend of her youth and beauty, but he disliked her father more than he could ever hate them.

Viggo blinked and realized that Caeden stood in front of him. Wordlessly, she enveloped him in a hug that he returned, yet he looked back to Damon standing in the middle of the living room. His fingers dimpled the fabric of Caeden's dress and she grunted a little in protest at her dad's tight hold.

No one made a sound…except Elena. She groaned pitiably, thrashing her head on a couch cushion because her joints ached, and her throat was irritated—she was so thirsty. Her vision, she could hardly make out distinct shapes, and her hearing wasn't the best. Sound seemed to go in and out. Why was everyone whispering?

Stefan carefully slid his arms beneath her back and knees, lifted her. She gave a startled cry at suddenly being moved. "It's all right, Elena. I have you."

"Stefan?"

The vampire retreated to the stairs giving Viggo a small nod of acknowledgement unsurprised the older gentleman would go right back to glaring at Damon.

Viggo ended the embrace with his eldest.

"Dad there's something we need to tell you. Mom…she…she's alive. She's okay."

His lower lip puckered. "What are you talking about?" his gaze volleyed between the splitting image of his ex-wife to the vampire he couldn't stand who was holding a young woman in his arms. Viggo stopped thinking, stopped breathing as he got a _real_ good look. His chest rose and fell alarmingly.

"Dad," Caeden touched his shoulder, worried. He had high blood pressure and she was kicking herself for not warning him, but she had been vowed to secrecy in order for the spell to work.

"Someone explain…Bonnie," he fumbled with his words as he skirted around Caeden and entered the living room.

"I'm taking her upstairs. She needs rest," Damon disappeared leaving behind a burst of wind.

222.

Caroline cocked her head to the side, taking Elena's measure. Seeing her age fifty years in seconds had been scary and freakishly enthralling and that made her feel like the worst kind of friend in the world. She figured the least she could do was be outraged on Elena's behalf since the woman was so frail now she could barely talk above a whisper. However, she understood the triplets' malice. Didn't mean she sympathized or agreed with what they had done to one of their mother's oldest friends, but she got it.

Elena stirred, whining pitiably as she came to. Her hooded lids opened to reveal confused brown orbs. Some of the color had returned and Caroline was curious as to how good Elena's vision was. The immortal tried to imagine aging, but that was a difficult task when she had stopped aging at seventeen.

The doppelganger smacked her dry lips together, "Damon?"

Moving into action, Caroline sat on the edge of the bed, gently picked up one of Elena's reed-thin hands that were surprisingly warm. "Hey, Elena."

"Caroline? W-where's Damon?"

Caroline pressed her lips together. She knew exactly where Damon was. In another bedroom on this very floor. With Bonnie. "He's just taking care of something. He'll be here shortly."

"What happened to me? Did something go wrong with the spell?"

Not exactly. "I don't have any answers at the moment. I wish I could tell you what's going on," Caroline apologized.

Elena sniffled. Perhaps Kai lied, omitted that while yes she would remain sleeping so long as Bonnie lived, she'd age. A myriad of emotions ransacked Elena and she knew she'd feel better if Damon were here because he had a way of easing her flustered mind, distracting her from whatever storm was brewing. But he wasn't here. Caroline was being vague, Bonnie was dead, and…

Elena went back to her last thought. There had been that perfect moment of awakening, and knowing it was real and that she wasn't dreaming it for the billionth time. Of being cushioned in Damon's arms. Something happened. Her senses, body functions began to dull, dampen and she felt withered and gray. Damon had mentioned some names, names she had never heard before but he had spoken with familiarity.

There had been chanting, right? Elena remembered hearing chanting. Only one breed of people chanted. Witches. Had witches done this to her? Why? She hadn't done anything. Why would they do this? To ruin her chances of having the life she had been cheated out of having fifty, sixty, however many years ago?

Caroline saw Elena becoming visibly upset as she seemed to be piecing together the events of last night.

"Witches did this to me," she finally said. Rheumy brown orbs pleaded with Caroline, "Why?"

The blonde vampire started to retort and changed her mind. The answer was simple. The triplets wanted their mother back and Elena was instrumental. Almost deadly instrumental.

"They…did it for Bonnie," Caroline admitted reluctantly.

Elena blinked. "Bonnie? If I'm awake that means she's dead," her voice faltered at the end. She still didn't want to think about that.

Caroline shook her head. "She's not dead, Elena. Bonnie is alive."

Shock tightened Elena's emaciated features. "She's alive? How? Shouldn't she be…because of Kai's spell. Did she find a loophole?"

"She didn't but her…daughters did."

"Daughters? Bonnie has daughters?"

"Yes, she does. Fifty years have passed since Alaric and Jo's wedding and the spell took effect. Bonnie lived her life, she had…has children and they were the ones who…"

"Did this to me," Elena's chin quivered. None of this was making sense. Why would they do this to her? They didn't know her and she sure as hell didn't know them. It wasn't her fault what Kai had done to both their mother and to her. "I want to see Bonnie."

"She's not…conscious at the moment."

Elena inhaled sharply. "Her daughters…I want to talk to them."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Elena frowned, adding more lines to her face. "They're punishing me for something that wasn't my fault. They should know Bonnie wouldn't approve of this."

"I'm pretty sure they do know that, Elena." And because Caroline knew her nieces exceptionally well, she knew they didn't care. "They're with Bonnie right now. I'm sure everything will be worked out."

Elena clamped her mouth wanting to argue further but came to the conclusion Caroline was right. She was in no physical condition to go up against anyone. Tiredness was urging her to close her eyes, sleep, and once morning came hopefully Bonnie, Damon, or someone would be able to convince Bonnie's daughters to reverse whatever they had done to her.

Caroline stayed with Elena until she began snoring lightly. She rose from the bed and traipsed down the hall, poking her head into the room where Bonnie had been laid down. She was once again surrounded by her daughters with Damon holding up the far wall, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

He looked at her with a raised brow.

"Elena was asking for you. She's asleep now."

Damon nodded once and went right back to staring at Bonnie.

Despite her worries of leaving Damon alone with Caeden, Faora, and Loki, Caroline trusted they'd behave themselves in the meantime, and journeyed downstairs to help Stefan finish straightening up the living room.

"Everything all right up there?" Stefan folded and stacked chairs.

"For now. This is the calm before the storm."

Snorting, Stefan believed that was an understatement.

"Where're Jeremy, Matt, and Viggo?"

"Matt's granddaughter picked him up. Viggo is somewhere. Jeremy is probably in the kitchen taking his pills, which reminds me I need to hide the alcohol."

Caroline plopped down into a chair. "This is…madness but I'm not surprised."

Stefan concurred with a nod. "I'm not either. My brother is completely fucked."

The two looked at one another. Caroline slapped a hand over her mouth but her laughter could still be heard. Stefan didn't hold back.

222.

Unrest. The house had been in unrest or maybe that was just him. With dawn approaching he sat outside in the garden, flexing and curling his hands, elbows braced on his knees staring into nothingness. Seven days ago he had a clear concept of his emotions: heartbroken, anxious, guilt. Today he couldn't grasp much of anything. What was it said about two great forces colliding? How it could lead to cataclysmic chaos? The two great loves of his life, one realized the other unrequited, were back in the here and now. Damon rubbed and gripped the nape of his neck, dying for a drink, dying for a clone. Escape.

The really terrible truth? One he wasn't ready to say to anyone let alone himself? He was…

"Are you really that surprised, Uncle Damon? Did you honestly think we would let our mother die?"

Damon's jaw hardened at the sound of Faora's voice. She hadn't spoken the words haughtily, maliciously, or even smugly; just matter-of-fact as if reading straight from a textbook.

The problem for Damon wasn't that the girls would do anything for their mother. He expected nothing less from them. What he had an issue with was using Elena, siphoning her youth and vitality to pretty much 'power up' Bonnie. It was cruel and insidious. There was no nice way to say it or dress it up.

"Faye if you know what's best for you, you won't take another step."

Naturally she didn't listen.

Damon knew she wouldn't because she didn't fear what he might do, which made his anger flare all the more. He was tired of these chicks dismissing him, writing him off. She and her sisters may have thought they had immunity simply because lashing out at them would spell true and complete expulsion out of Bonnie's life. And…they may have had a slight point, but that _wasn't_ the point. He was Damon Fucking Salvatore and he _always_ got even.

He abruptly rose from the bench, faced her, his vampiric visage out on full display.

Faora didn't look sad or remorseful about her actions, Damon noticed. In fact, she'd do it again and wouldn't just stop at rapidly aging Elena. She'd kill her. That detail had him shudder inwardly because Faora used to be so sweet and gentle. Any time he was injured after facing off with an enemy, she would try to nurse him back to health despite the constant reminders that he healed quickly. She just liked to mother people.

Now, his sweet little princess was a cold-hearted bitch.

"What has Elena ever done to any of you?" Damon questioned, veins fattening with rage. "You don't even _know_ her."

"I know enough," Faora replied coolly. "You're mad at what we did to your girlfriend, and yeah it's fucked up," she agreed with the barest hint of remorse, "but that's not the full reason why you're so pissed off."

"It's not?"

"No, it's not," Faora moved closer. "You're upset because you have another shot with my mother and you want to take it, but you feel conflicted because Elena's back, and you think you owe her for the years she's lost. You feel you have no choice but to be with her since you waited a century and a half to be reunited with Katherine, but you hadn't fallen in love with anyone else during that first trial separation.

"You're mad and resentful of the circumstances. If you choose one, you lose the other. You feel compelled to do what you think is right. And the right thing for Damon is to be with Elena, only…Damon isn't madly in love with Elena Gilbert any longer. You're mad because you fell out of love with her and in love with my mother and you're going to have to break a heart. _That's_ why you're pissed. Say I'm lying."

Damon pleaded with his mouth to say something, anything, recite the alphabet, but nary a sound would come.

A self-satisfied smirk lifted Faroa's lips. "Just as I thought."

"That's right act smug but your mother doesn't know who the fuck you are."

Faora's nostrils flared and her chin quivered.

" _Good_ job," he mocked derisively.

Just as he had seen Bonnie do a million times, Faora squared her shoulders, jutted her chin up. "We knew there'd be a consequence. The spell might have failed. Might have killed her, us, and Elena. Mama losing her memory…in comparison to not having her at all, we can deal with it."

They could but Damon couldn't.

"In any case, Uncle Damon the road for you isn't any easier. We won't know how extensive her memory loss is until she wakes up. She might have lost her memories of us but she also has lost her recent memories of you. If she's been reset from the first time she died. That means she's at the stage where the two of you meant absolutely nothing to one another. What are you going to do if that's the case?" she asked softly.

Things went dark for a moment. Damon saw himself flying over to Faora, but a figure moved behind her, and from the shadows stepped the last guy on earth he wanted to talk to.

"Faora, my love why don't you go inside," Viggo suggested. "I need to have a word with him."

For once Faye didn't put up a fight. She retreated inside leaving her father alone with Damon.

The two men sized one another up but it was Viggo who shook his head. It had been ten years since the last time he saw Damon and despite knowing what he was, he despised the fact he hadn't aged. At all. He thought Bonnie's sickness might have some kind of an adverse effect on the immortal, maybe give him a beer belly and a couple of gray hairs, but Damon remained untouched, aesthetically preserved. The contempt and jealousy he lugged around…like his testosterone Viggo let it drain out of him. He was an old man grimacing at the last stage of his life. It took too much energy to hate someone his ex-wife loved.

Damon wasn't seeing the aged man in front of him but the strapping, handsome guy Bonnie had introduced a month after dating Viggo. His hair—when he had hair—had been blonde, shaved low on the sides, longer up top; eyes sharp and evergreen, a face and physique to rival his own. He looked at the man who married Bonnie, sired children with her, and as much as Damon longed to let the old hurt burn, he stood stoically.

"My girls are clever, I'll give them that," Viggo began, "but they shouldn't have interfered. Bonnie wouldn't want this. They should have let her rest."

"I wouldn't let them hear you say that. That's a hot topic for them."

Viggo's grin was boyish and successful at erasing a decade off his face. "I still love Bonnie. We had some good years together. However, the whole time there had been a third party in our marriage."

Damon didn't fidget at the implication.

"I'm too old to hate you for past sins. If you love her which I suspect you still do then love her the right way. Either she comes first or leave her alone. Do you hear me, boy?"

Damon snorted at the "boy" comment. "Yeah, I hear you, old man."

222.

"Where were you?" Loki fired at her sister who crept back into the room.

"Outside having words," Faora replied taking position on the far side of the bed, next to her mother's head. "Has she woken or mumbled something in her sleep? You know how she can have an entire conversation while knocked out cold."

Loki chortled. "No. She's been like this while you were busy giving Uncle Damon a hard fucking time and don't deny you weren't. I can smell the salt you poured into his wounds."

"Whatever, _Artemis_."

Loki's tinkling laughter earned her a scowl from Caeden. "Don't look at me like that," she directed at her older sibling." She loves baiting him."

"And you love coddling him."

Loki clucked her tongue then shrugged. "Has anyone talked to dad?" she maneuvered the debate to safer ground.

Caeden nodded. "We spoke briefly."

"I left him alone with Damon," Faora said after a moment.

"There might be a funeral after all," Loki quipped.

At that moment, Caroline meandered into the room, wringing her hands. She had something delicate to broach and knew Bonnie's daughters could react in two ways. "How is she?"

"Comfortable," Caeden tucked strands of Bonnie's hair behind her ear, marveling at its softness, feeling the fibers of life. "Was there something you needed? Or…something you want to say?"

Not much could be hidden from they who missed nothing, Caroline mused. "You're not going to like this but I think it might be good in the long run. I think…I think it would be a good idea if you guys headed home."

Three pairs of somber forest green eyes became fiery.

"Bonnie doesn't remember who you are," Caroline quickly explained. "If she wakes up to find three faces that are eerily similar to hers staring down at her…assuming she has her powers do you want her to use them against you?"

None of the young women blinked or twitched or looked uncertain. However, Caeden broke first, garnering evil glares from her younger sisters.

"She's right," she admitted softly. "Going into this we didn't know what the outcome would be. If it would even work. If we'd get mom back. She's alive and for now…and for now that's going to have to be good enough."

But that was unacceptable to Faora who geared up to object. "We can't just leave her. She's going to need us."

"We're not leaving her for good. I do believe with time her memory will come back. It's just going to take a while for _this_ brain of hers to download over seventy years' worth of memories," Caeden argued.

Faora and Loki exchanged looks. But the former stubbornly insisted, "I can't leave her."

"We'll be back tomorrow. Let's just give mom some space tonight," Loki urged.

"I'll be here," Caroline promised. "I'll do my best to answer any questions she might have, get her caught up on things depending on what she remembers. I'll call if things go downhill."

Caeden kissed Bonnie lightly on the cheek who twitched at the contact. Loki was up next kissing her mother's hand and whispering a famous Bennett blessing. Faora, predictably, was the hold out.

"Come on, Faye. Mama is fine."

"Anything could happen…magic can be so fragile and thin."

"We did everything by the book, you know this," Loki propped a hand on her hip. "We took no shortcuts. We cut deals and made promises now you _have_ to believe. It's been three hours already. If it were going to fade it would have done so."

Caroline could earnestly say her interest was piqued. What exactly had her nieces done? She knew what had been done in the past to bring Bonnie back, but this time had been wildly different. "What did…"

"No questions, Aunt Caroline," Loki interrupted, her clipped tone like steel. "There are something's better off not knowing. Faye, let's go."

Faora shook her head, obstinate, determined not to leave. She couldn't abandon her mother, wanting to hear her voice again, wanting to feel her soothing touch only a mother could provide to her child. And she knew she was being a bit of a doubtful brat but she couldn't help it. Being the middle child she was sometimes overlooked. Caeden was the overachiever—developing first, learning skills faster, mastering things almost on her first try. Loki was the baby and kept everyone on their toes. Then there was her. Not fast or slow, not perfect or an adorable nuisance. Yet Bonnie took time out just for her and Faora wanted that connection back.

But she resigned herself to the harsh truth it wasn't going to happen tonight.

"Call us if anything changes," Caeden addressed Caroline who nodded. "And no matter what…don't let mom see Elena."

Ten minutes later, Loki sat behind the wheel of her Jaguar. Faora walked to the left side of the car and fell into the passenger seat.

The wipers going, it cleared the windshield of light drops of rain. It was dark, deathly quiet, but Loki examined her sister who seemed fixated on one window in particular.

"We made the right decision, didn't we?" Faora asked and looked at her sister across the console. Her bravado from earlier had all but melted away and was replaced with crippling anxiety. What if they made a mistake? What if bringing their mom back resulted in more than just memory loss? What they've done to Elena would be seen as a declaration of war because if there was one thing that was repeatedly hammered into their heads growing up was how much Bonnie loved and protected Elena. "Mama will understand why we I what we did?"

Loki drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "Your guess is as good as mine on which way the dice will roll. All we can do is brace ourselves," she paused. "Mama is gonna whoop us good. Ain't you excited?" she shimmied in her seat and revved the engine.

Faora snorted.

"We're going to be there for her and that's all that matters," Loki declared and shifted into drive.

"And Uncle Damon…?" Faora became distracted by the song playing. It was an old school record that had been wildly popular back when her mom was in her twenties.

"…he better call Becky with the good hair…" Loki sang and zoomed down the winding driveway.

222.

Quiet. The boardinghouse was quiet when he came back inside. The coffins were gone, the furniture was put back in their rightful places, and the flower arrangements had been cleared away. Looking around you'd never think this was the scene of a wake for a beloved woman. Just another gaudy house, haunted, but well looked after.

Damon eyed the drink cart but turned from it and grabbed the balustrade, one foot on the bottom step. He craned his neck to the top of the stairs. Who was he going to look on first? Everything within him was pulling in one set direction but whatever shards of nobility he still lugged around, they were begging him to see to the other one first. But alas, the decision was taken out of his hand. He heard a door open and soft, tiny feet whisper along the floorboards. His lids fluttered shut and he inhaled deeply, smelling her. He went slowly, climbing the stairs one at a time hoping to prolong the moment despite the fact his muscles twitched in rebellion for him to move his ass faster.

When he made it to the top of the stairs he found himself incapable of taking another step. He drunk her in. Those bare toes, those dancer's legs, that beautiful skin. Damon couldn't look away. There she stood distracted by a mirror, distracted by her own reflection. Damon observed as she touched her cheeks, her fingertips lightly grazing lips he had spent hours obsessing about how they tasted, their degree of softness. She stared at her arms next then flattened her palms along her stomach.

The floorboard beneath Damon's shoe loudly protested at the weight.

Her head snapped up toward him.

Her eyes met his and it was like a sledgehammer slammed into his chest. Something happened Damon didn't believe could happen twice and with the same person. And that feeling, that sensation grew.

Damon listened to her heart change rhythm and begin to pound. He'd been without that sound for seven days. "I'm not," his voice was barely strong enough to carry the sound down the hallway to her ears. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Bonnie tilted her head a fraction and resisted looking around to see if anyone else was near. The way he was looking at her…should be bothering her more than it did.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bonnie. Do you know where you are?"

Infinitesimally, she nodded.

"Do you know who I am?"

Again she nodded.

Relief made Damon take a huge step forward. "Good. Good. Now, this is important…do you know who you are?"

This time instead of nodding, Bonnie narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Now can you answer something for me?" she rasped. Her throat was painfully dry. And unbeknownst to her, she hadn't used her voice in this body in over fifty years.

"Anything."

"Why the hell am I here?"

Damon smiled. "Long story. Can I tell you something?"

Bonnie stiffened. "Do you have to say it while practically standing on top of me?"

It was then Damon realized that yes, he was hovering above Bonnie. His legs, of their own volition, had carried him across the space that separated them. He didn't move and his smile deepened at the flash of annoyance that crossed Bonnie's face. Damon missed that too.

"What do you have to say to me, Damon?"

 _I love you._ "You have crust in your eye."

Bonnie's jaw slackened and then her tiny fist punched the center of his chest. "I do not." As Damon chuckled he saw her discreetly try to clean her eye.

"Come on, judgey," he motioned with his head towards the staircase. "You gotta be starving. What do you say to a stack of pancakes?"

Her nose wrinkled but she fell into step with Damon who tried not to stare at her too openly.

Bonnie shyly glanced up at him. "You're being nice to me. Why? Did someone die?"

"Depends on how you look at it…"

Down the hallway, the door to Damon's bedroom was cracked open and looking out was a dull brown eye.

 **A/N: Thoughts? Thanks so much for reading XOXO!**


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